


Off The Cuff

by teacuphuman



Series: A Month of Kink! [15]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Blow Jobs, Handcuffs, M/M, Rentboy Eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is detective out to protect his investment.</p>
<p>Their routine is pretty solid by now. Arthur shows up to “arrest” Eames for solicitation, Arthur feeds him, Eames answers his questions, and gets paid before making his way back across town. Arthur is very good at convincing himself his only interest in the kid is as an asset. It has nothing to do with his sharp wit, or the way his eyes follow Arthur’s every move. Those plush lips and blunt hands are absolutely not something Arthur ever allows himself to think about while alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off The Cuff

**Author's Note:**

> Day 15 of the Month of Kink: Handcuffs
> 
> FINALLY! Sorry for the delay! Illness, baseball, and elections sucked up all my time and energy for a bit, but I'm back now.

Arthur slows the car, passing the alley at a crawl and searching the shadows for the silhouette that will get him what he’s looking for. It’s Friday night, and the streets are busy with lost boys and girls prowling for johns and taking advantage of the warm night to not bother with finding shelter.

Up ahead, Roxy motions a man out of the shadows, checking to make sure the coast is clear. She freezes when her eyes land on Arthur’s unmarked car, but he waves her on. He isn’t here to disrupt business; tonight he needs information. He rolls down his window and she saunters over.

“Busy night?” He asks.

“You know it. The holidays get lonely.” She fishes a cigarette out of her purse, leaning into his window so he can light it for her. “You looking for your baby boy?”

“Roxy,” he warns.

“Don’t pretend with me, detective. I ain’t got time for that shit. He looks at you with those puppy dog eyes, and I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one watching.”

“Jesus, Roxy, don’t tell me you’re a romantic.”

She blows smoke into his face, smirking. “Nah, I just know the look of a saviour complex when I see it. Kid like that shouldn’t be on the streets. Won’t take long for some bastard to get his hooks in him. Get him jacked up and strung out, lost to a decent life. Bet you won’t look at him like you do for long. The newbies lose their shine real quick to guys like you.”

“You trying to say you were once shiny and new, Roxy?”

“No, baby, I was born tired and rough. Your little boy has been straying close to the edge, though. Carlos been sniffin’ around his ass, looking for a party.”

Arthur’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “That’s none of my business.”

“It could be, if you wanted it to,” She stamps out her cigarette, drawing back. “I gotta move on, give my time to my paying boyfriends.”

“You still got my card?”

“Yeah, baby, I got it. Ain’t ever going to use it, though,” She winks. “Your boy’s over on Wilcox.”

Arthur nods in thanks, pulling away from the curb. Wilcox is three streets over and houses a row of rundown shops, all closed for the night. The bar on the corner caters to a rough crowd of back alley and blue collar workers who come to drink, fight, and occasionally pick up a date for the ride home. Roxy’s smart enough to stay away from clients like that. The ones who don’t think twice about knocking someone around if they think they can get away with it.

Arthur knows she’s warned the kid away from the place, but he’s stubborn, and knows there’s money to be made from being able to take a hit or two. Arthur stamps down his rage, telling himself he can’t dictate what the kid does. He walks a delicate line between the kid heeding his warnings and fleeing his authority. If Arthur pushes too hard, he’ll lose his investment.

Roxy seems to think Arthur’s in it to save the kid; pick him out of the gutter and keep him safe, but all Arthur needs him for is information. The kid has a good ear and knows how to read people. He usually knows who’s doing what, and where to find Arthur’s suspects.

Arthur pays him, he’s not a total ass. The kid only offered his services the once, but Arthur had shut him down, willfully looking away from the kid’s soft mouth and insisting that wasn’t part of their deal. If the kid looked disappointed, it was only because Arthur refused to keep him from being picked up by other cops. He couldn’t afford to play favourites, it drew too much attention.

He parks down the block, eyes drifting up the street. He sheds his jacket and tie, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. He locks the car and wanders closer to the bar, darting between the buildings and listening for the kid. In the alley beside the hardware store, he hears a thud and a grunt, followed by someone hitting the ground. A low accented voice swears and spits. Someone laughs darkly and there’s another thud.

Arthur stands in the mouth of the alley, assessing the scene. If he rushes in hot and angry, the kid will be upset that he’d run off a client, threatening his livelihood. If Arthur waits too long, the kid may be in no shape to give him the info he needs.

The decision is made for him as the blade of a knife flashes in the dim light. Arthur is quick and quiet, drawing up behind the man and aiming a hard kick to the back of his knee. The man goes down and Arthur catches him in a headlock, cutting off his air supply with an arm around his throat. The kid is on his hands and knees on the filthy concrete, his eyes watching Arthur calmly incapacitate his client.

When Arthur lets the man drop to the ground, the kid huffs and winces as he climbed to his feet.

“I had that under control.” He leans against the brick wall, arm clutching his middle.

“Of course you did. I’m just in a hurry.” Arthur crouches beside the man, searching his pockets for a wallet. He checks his i.d. and takes the cash, handing it to the kid with a shrug.

“He’s going to think I planned this. Had someone sneak up to mug him.”

“He pulled a knife on you,” Arthur says, dryly.

“No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t like that,” the kid looks away. “He wanted it a little rough.”

“Jesus, Eames, pulling a knife on someone isn’t just a little rough.” Arthur hisses, angering despite his resolution not to.

“Can we not argue about this here, please? His buddies are bound to come looking for him.” Eames sighs, closing his eyes briefly.

“Right, I’m parked up the street.” Arthur reaches back to grab the handcuffs off his belt.

Eames frowns at the cuffs “Seriously? Do we have to do the whole song and dance every time?”

“Yes, goddammit, that’s what keeps you from winding up in a ditch somewhere.”

“You seriously don’t think everyone knows this is all just for show?” Eames asks, offering his wrists.

Arthur smirks, slapping on the cuffs. “I figure they think it’s part of our weird sex agreement.”

“I don’t think anyone believes you have that much imagination, detective.”

Arthur lead Eames out of the alley by the arm.

He puts Eames in the backseat of his car and pulls back onto the main road.

“What do you want to eat?” He glances at the kid in the rearview mirror.

“Pancakes.”

“Rosie’s?” Arthur tries to hide his smile.

“Eames’ grin is crooked. “Yeah.”

They drive in silence through the city streets. Arthur feels the kid’s eyes on him but keeps his gaze resolutely on the road.

Their routine is pretty solid by now. Arthur shows up to “arrest” Eames for solicitation, Arthur feeds him, Eames answers his questions, and gets paid before making his way back across town. Arthur is very good at convincing himself his only interest in the kid is as an asset. It has nothing to do with his sharp wit, or the way his eyes follow Arthur’s every move. Those plush lips and blunt hands are absolutely not something Arthur ever allows himself to think about while alone.

Arthur parks the car in front of Rosie’s Diner and cuts the engine. He turns to Eames, finding him slouched in his seat, eyes wide and panicked.

“What?” Arthur ducks his head, scanning the parking lot.

“The blue impala. It’s Carlos’.” Eames swallows.

“Roxy said he’s been looking at you.” Arthur squints through the windshield, checking the diner windows.

“You busted three of his crew a few weeks back, after one of our visits. I think he put the pieces together since I was in the shop when they set the time for the drop.”

“I thought you were being careful.” Arthur scolds him.

“I am careful!” Eames hisses. “I told you this would happen. I said you were picking me up too often.”

Arthur starts the car. “If you thought they were getting suspicious, why did you keep coming with me?”

“Well, it’s certainly not your winning personality,” Eames spits. “And it’s not like I have a choice.” He mutters.

Arthur choses to ignore that. He backs out of the spot as Carlos and four of his crew come out of the diner. One of the guys points at the car and Arthur put the car in drive and calmly drive out of the lot.

“Shit! Shit! He saw us, didn’t he?” Eames groans, still low behind him. “I’m screwed, you asshole!”

“Calm down, they didn’t see you.” Arthur checks the mirror as the impala turns into the street. He swears under his breath,

“They’re following us, aren’t they?”

“A little bit.” Arthur takes a hard right onto the bridge.

“Oh, only a little bit. That’s fine, then.” The sarcasm is heavy in Eames’ tone.

“Be quiet, I’m trying to lose them.”

“Try harder.” Eames says, then falls silent.

Once they’re over the bridge, it’s easier to shake their pursuers in the winding city streets. After ten minutes free of sightings, Arthur relaxes and turns the car toward his house. He circles the block three times, just to be safe, before pulling into his garage.

“Where are we?” Eames asks when Arthur cut the engine.

“They’ll be looking for you. You can’t go back yet.”

“Yeah, no shit. But where are we?”

Arthur climbs out of the car, opening the back door for Eames. “My house.”

Eames stares up at him, shocked.

“Are you getting out of the car, or would you prefer to spend the night in here?”

Eames unfolds himself from the backseat, moving carefully and staring at Arthur like he doesn’t know what he should expect next.

Arthur lets them into the house, flicking lights on as he goes. He tosses his keys on the kitchen counter, draping his jacket and tie over a chair.

“Won’t your wife be upset you brought home a street urchin?” Eames asks, eyes roaming around the house, taking in the sparse furnishings.

“Look around. You really think a woman lives here?” Arthur chuckles, pulling a bottle of beer out of the fridge.

“Good point. Although, it’s better than my place.”

“The alley I found you in is better than the shithole you call an apartment.” Arthur twists the top off his bottle and drinks deeply.

“Hey,” Eames says, hurt.

Arthur mentally kicks himself for being an asshole. “Let me take those cuffs off.”

Eames holds out his hands, eyes downcast.

“I’d offer you a beer, but you’re not of legal age yet.” He removes the cuffs.

“Yes, it is prudent to abide the law and not give alcohol to the underage rent boy you brought home.” Eames shakes his head, some of his good humour returning.

Arthur lets out a surprised laugh, smiling. Eames beams at him, rubbing his wrists.

“Were they too tight?” Arthur asks.

“No, just feels weird to have them off around you. There’s something comforting about them, yeah?”

A coil of heat unfurls in Arthur’s belly at the words and he busies himself with getting Eames a beer to cover it. Bringing the kid home with him may not have been such a good idea.

“Ta,” Eames takes the bottle and Arthur absolutely does not watch the way his throat moves as he swallows.

Arthur feels trapped with Eames blocking the entrance to the kitchen. He clears his throat. “Let’s go in the living room, I have some questions for you.”

Eames stands sideways, forcing Arthur to brush past him before following. Arthur collapses in the armchair, rubbing a hand over his face. Eames goes to the bookshelf, running his finger along some of the spines.

“I miss books,” he says quietly.

“You can borrow some, if you’d like.” Arthur blurts before he can stop himself.

“Nah, they’d just get stolen,” Eames smiles sheepishly, settling on the sofa. “But thanks.”

Arthur raises the bottle to his lips.

“So, what did you want?” Eames asks, voice low.

Arthur chokes on the last sip of beer, sputtering. Eames looks alarmed, but Arthur holds out a hand to stop him from approaching.

“Sorry, that, um, went down the wrong way.” His face is aflame. He carefully sets his empty bottle on the coffee table and avoids Eames’ gaze.

“You’re much smoother when we’re in your car,” Eames observes, raising his eyebrow. “You seem nervous now. It’s a little adorable.”

Arthur can’t think of anything to say that won’t make him sound like an asshole, so he ignores the kid and grabs himself another beer. He takes a healthy swig and a few deep breaths before returning to the chair.

“A man by the name of Stephen Sylvania was shot two nights ago in the lot of the BigWay. Have you heard anything?” Arthur stares straight ahead, deciding to treat Eames like he does during their normal meetings.

“I wasn’t out Wednesday night. It was pouring.”

“I didn’t ask if you were out, I asked if you’d heard anything. I wouldn’t think a little rain would deter you.”

“Why because I should be out every night turning tricks? I get days off too, you know. And no, I haven’t heard anything, just that someone got shot.” Eames takes a drink.

Arthur glances at him, surprised by the anger in the kid’s voice. “I actually meant because it rains a lot in England. At least I think it does, I’ve never been.”

Eames looks chagrined. “Oh, yeah. It does. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

“I didn’t consider that. I’m from California and I feel like the sun never fucking shines here.”

“Do you miss it?” Eames asks, leaning on the arm of the sofa.

“I dream about sunshine. It’s depressing.”

Eames laughs. “I dream about the seaside where I grew up.”

Arthur watches him, lost in thought with a small smile on his face. The kid is really quite beautiful. The swelling mark on his cheek when he turns his head ruins the illusion, and Arthur frowns.

“The guy in the alley do that?” He flicks his hand.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess so.” Eames sits back.

“Does it hurt?” Arthur asks, unable to stop staring at the damage to the kid’s otherwise unblemished face.

“It’s fine.” Eames sniffs.

Arthur goes into the kitchen, returning with a baggie of ice wrapped in a dish towel. He tosses it to Eames. “Put that on it, it’ll help.”

Eames grumbles his thanks.

“He hit you twice.” Arthur says, thinking back.

“No, just the one.”

“No, I heard two. Where else did he get you?” Arthur scowls, meaning to intimidate Eames into confessing.

“Your face isn’t nearly as scary as you think it is. Especially now that I know you have dimples.” The kid takes a swig of beer.

“Fuck you.”

“But only if I ask nicely, right?” Eames leers at him.

Arthur’s cock twitches, deepening his scowl. The kid is deflecting the only way he knows how and Arthur needs to keep a clear head if he wants answers.

“I can drop you back at that bar if you’d prefer. I’m sure your friend is conscious by now and looking for you. Or maybe Carlos will get lucky and find you first.” Arthur drains his second bottle, hating the steel in his voice.

Eames sobers, huffing angrily through his nose. “He got in a kick to my ribs. I’m fine, though.”

“Let me see.” Arthur stands.

“You’re bossy, you know that?” Eames asks, scooting forward to pull up his shirt.

“Yes,” Arthur crouches in front of the couch, frowning at the violent purple bruising across the kid’s ribs. “This is older than tonight.”

Eames tries to pull his shirt down but Arthur’s hand shoots out to stop him, pushing until the shirt is off. “Who did this?”

“Look, I don’t actually have to tell you anything. This Nightingale act isn’t part of our deal.”

“I’m protecting my investment. Who did this?” Arthur trails his fingers over the marks, making Eames wince.

“Same guy, different night.” He grits his teeth.

“He pull a knife on you that night, too?”

“No, the knife was new.” Eames mutters.

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “Just liked it a little rough, huh?”

Eames rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe he had something else in mind, but I still had everything in control.”

“You can’t let people do that. They’re not allowed to do whatever they want to you, just because they paid.” Arthur’s hand clenches against the couch cushion, his other still wrapped around the kid’s injured ribs.

“Yes, they can. That’s how it works, Detective. You think I can afford to be picky? I start saying no and they either take it anyway, or I starve. Being your ears doesn’t pay as well as you think it does.” Eames breaths are coming hard and fast, his face inches from Arthur’s.

“Why didn’t you say something? I could have done,” Arthur stops, at a loss. “Something.” He finishes lamely.

Eames snorts, dragging a hand through Arthur’s hair. “What can you do? You can’t save me, Arthur. Not the way you want to.”

Arthur pushes to his feet, falling back into his chair with his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Eames asks.

“You know for what,” he spits.

“I want to hear you say it. I think I’ve been honest with you, now it’s your turn. What are you sorry for, Detective.”

When Arthur raises his head, Eames’ eyes are hard. “For using you. I’m no better than that man in the alley. Than any of them.”

“It’s not quite the same.”

“Yes it is, God. I paid you to get what I wanted. I put your life in danger for my gain. How is that different than some asshole tossing down a few bills and shoving his cock in you?” Arthur’s voice is raw.

“It’s different because I say it is. It’s different because when it’s for you, I want to do it. You know what my favourite part of our nights together is?”

Arthur shakes his head, wary of the passion in the kid’s voice.

“When we eat. Because we sit across from each other and you actually talk to me. You don’t press for answers, it’s not out of pity, or fake, it’s just two blokes talking to each other like they’re both human, and worth the fucking effort of the conversation. You know who else talks to me like that? No one. You are the only person who treats me like I’m worth anything more than what I do for a living. So do you have any idea how much it hurts to hear you say all of that means nothing because you pay me for information? It fucking hurts, Arthur.” Eames is perched on the edge of the couch, pain etched across his face.

Arthur has no words. He has no idea what to say to take away the strain in Eames’ voice. Anything he does will only make things worse.

Eames slides off the couch, kneeling on the shitty grey carpet. “This would be so much easier if you were like those guys, believe me. If you’d taken my offer the first time, treated me like just another hooker on the street, then I could hate you. If you didn’t buy me dinner and ask my opinion, I wouldn’t have to like you. If you’d hadn’t refused me, I wouldn’t want to give you things.”

Eames’ eyes are boring into his and Arthur can’t deny the heat he sees in them. “What do you want to give me?” He asks, voice cracking.

Eames crawls toward him slowly, giving him time to bolt. Arthur stays where he is, willing his hands to stop shaking. Eames’ hands land on Arthur’s knees, sliding up his thighs, heavy and warm.

“Everything.” Eames whispers, his lips mere inches from Arthur’s.

“If I take it, doesn’t that make me like them?” Arthur’s eyes dart down to the kid’s lips.

“Not if I’m offering. And not if you give back.”

Arthur drags his eyes back to Eames’. “What do you want from me?”

Eames smiles, slow and wide. “Everything.”

Arthur pulls Eames in with a hand on the back of his neck, pressing their mouths together. Eames surges forward, pushing into him, but Arthur holds him back, not wanting to rush this. He kisses Eames, soft and slow, savouring the taste of him. The kid’s hands are everywhere, plucking at Arthur’s buttons, rubbing over his crotch, and Arthur pulls away, grasping his wrists.

“Calm down,”

“What if you change you mind?” Eames asks, breathless.

“I won’t. Let’s just go slow, okay?”

Eames huffs a laugh. “I’m not sure I remember how to do that.”

Arthur pushes him back, dropping a kiss to his brow when Eames whimpers. He goes into the kitchen for the cuffs.

“Will these will help?” He lays them in Eames’ hand.

“ _Yes,_ ” Eames says, closing his eyes. “Please.”

“In front or behind your back? Tell me what you want.” Arthur sits, brushing Eames’ hair away from his face.

Eames licks his lips, frowning. “Behind, I think. It’s easier to stay calm like that.”

“Okay, turn around.”

Arthur smiles at the shudder that goes through Eames when the cuffs go on.

“Tighter. Just a bit.” Eames asks over his shoulder.

“How’s that?”

Eames flexes his wrists, the muscles of his back making Arthur’s mouth water.

“Perfect.”

Arthur turns him around with a hand to his jaw, kissing him once he’s in range. “You’re sure? I don’t want to to feel trapped.”

Eames smiles, blushing. “It’s not like that. It makes me feel safe. Like you’re in control and you’ll take care of me. I know it’s weird.”

“No, it’s fine. I like it. I’ll do whatever you want,” Arthur’s hands run over the kid’s heated skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

Eames laughs, leaning into his touch. “What can I do?”

“Anything. Everything.” Arthur says.

“I want to suck you off. Can I do that?” Eames looks worried, like Arthur might actually say no.

“God, yes.” Arthur fumbles for his belt.

“Wait, just, let me.” Eames leans forward, pressing his face into Arthur’s crotch, nuzzling.

Arthur groans at the pressure, trying not to buck.

“You smell amazing, you know that?” Eames’ lips brush across Arthur’s cock as he speaks. “Sometimes when we’re in your car, it’s all I can do not to lean over and lick you. God, I want to eat you up.”

Arthur makes an inelegant noise, digging his hands into the armrests as Eames mouths at him through the layers of his clothing.

“Can you open your pants for me, please?” Eames asks, cheeks reddened and looking up at Arthur from beneath lowered lashes.

Arthur forces himself to go slow as he open his belt and pulls it through the loops. Eames make a sound of approval, licking his lips. His hands shake as he slips the clasp free and he struggles with the button before it slides free. Eames eyes are on his, clear and dark, as he lowers the zipper.

Eames starts rubbing his face against Arthur’s cock again, groaning. He suckles at the wet spot on Arthur’s briefs, making him jerk. He mouths along the shaft, breath warm and wet.

Arthur is quickly coming undone, unsure of how much he should be reacting. “What can I do?”

“Hmm, you’re doing it,” Eames grins up at him, smile faltering when he sees the tension in Arthur’s face. “Oh, pet, I’m sorry. Take off your pants, let me get to you.

Arthur hurries to comply, slouching back in the chair once his pants and underwear are gone. Eames kisses his way up Arthur’s inner thigh, drawing his nose, then his tongue over his balls. He drags his lips up Arthur’s cock, and Arthur can’t keep his whole body from shivering when Eames sucks the head between his lips.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, forcing his eyes to stay open. “Can I touch you?”

Eames hums around him, pulling a moan from Arthur’s throat. He sinks one hand into the kid’s short hair, resting on the curve of his skull. The other hand cups his jaw, enjoying the movements of the bone under his fingers.

Eames pulls him deeper, shuffling forward on his knees. His mouth is hot and slick, and Arthur is certain nothing has ever felt this good. Eames bobs his head slowly, sucking harder as Arthur drags out of him.

Heat is building quickly in Arthur’s gut, despite his need to make this last. Eames mouth is too good, and too tight, and he’s gasping a warning before he can stop it. Eames sinks down on him, groaning as Arthur comes. He pulls of with a wet pop and scrambles back.

“Please, Arthur, please.” He’s gasping, trying to shove his pants down with his hands trapped beneath him.

Arthur straddles him, pressing down to still his bucking hips. He barely gets the jeans open and a hand around his cock before Eames is coming with a shout, spurting over Arthur’s hand and his own belly. Arthur presses his head to Eames’ chest, panting, before going in search of the cuff key. He rolls Eames onto his side, releasing his wrist and rubbing his arms to soothe the strain. Eames curls into him, clutching at Arthur’s shirt and smearing the mess between them. He’s taking deep, shuddering breaths and pressing his wet mouth to Arthur’s neck.

Arthur hold him close, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders and burying his nose in Eames’ hair. He’s not sure what happens next, but for right now he can’t bear the thought of letting go of the boy in his arms.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [teacuphuman09](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/teacuphuman09)
> 
> Comments and kudos are like rainbow kisses!


End file.
